


How Are You Doing (thanks, my friend)

by FatalViolet520



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 4419 celebration, 9 + 1 things, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Stray Kids First Win Celebration, also dont ask me about their ages and how honorifics work, brief mention of alcohol, dont ask me about the timeline i dont fucking know, highly recommend you listen to '4419' and 'timeless', it makes sense in my head but i have no words to express it i apologise for lacking, or i imagined skz didn't exist and wrote this to make myself cry instead, you know what listen to mixtape 2 as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalViolet520/pseuds/FatalViolet520
Summary: Fate entangles the nine of them different ways, even in another world, even in another timeline, even in another dimension, they will find each other. Will, without a doubt, because they are nine, they are family, and they will meet time and time again, with different dreams and different lives, but always in the same place with the same heart.(or, nine times they find each other and the one time they all meet.)





	How Are You Doing (thanks, my friend)

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY 4419 i wrote this in like a week so really, i apologise if its shitty hnggggg i just have too many feelings and the OBVIOUS best way is to write a fic right???? the fic isn't really angsty but i feel like it's nostalgic and sad bc we know skz was so close to becoming not the skz we know today, and like if any of them had chosen something else or given up or had been persuaded to do other things everything would be different and RIG HT I'LL STOP THERE 
> 
> ALSO SKZ WON THEIR FIRST WIN ON 4419 UNBELIEVABLE EVERYTHING WAS REALLY FATED??? IM IN TEARS IM SO PROUD OF THEM AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH
> 
> and i know by the time i publish this its been like 85 years since i promised to but here have this i hope you at least gain some enjoyment out of this and pls dont ask me about the timelines ive lost my sanity let alone my sense of time writing this 
> 
> all the work they do in this fic was taken from their profile where they said if they weren't in skz they'd be a [job] instead!! please enjoy~~

 

_How are you doing?_

_When you left, it was the hot summer_

_But your spot is empty like the winter_

 

_We’re in different places with the same dream_

_Some day, we’ll meet again in the same place_

_Trying to stop time to relive our memories_

 

_Deeply engraving our memories_

_In my heart_

_Let’s meet again in the same place_

 

_Thanks, my friend_

 

* * *

 

I. time, don’t stay here, go somewhere else

 

“How do you feel about trying out for musical films?”

 

Startled, Chan looks up from where he had been toying with the scripts laid in front of him, a little lacklustre and having not being reading them at all for the past half hour. “Musical films?” He says after a beat, absorbing what his manager suggests. “I don’t know, I haven’t had any vocal training, and don’t idols usually get roles in these kinds of films?”

 

“We can always get a vocal trainer for you, and you have good vocals, from what your assessment tells me,” His manager says, looking pensive, but Chan has come to know he’s just got a resting face that looks like he’s permanently stressed. A permanent bitch face, Chan thinks, but bites the thought back because he’s not supposed to be laughing. “So, what do you think?”

 

Chan spares a glance at the scripts he had been pouring over for the past few days, trying to figure out which one he would audition for. He had starred in one of the year’s hottest movies just two months before, the movie based off the novel from award-winning novelist Seo Changbin, and Chan’s still riding the fame wave, offers pouring in. He had accepted to play a part in a small drama to get some downtime, but his name is still hot to the directors, and love calls are following him everywhere, though none of them strike Chan as hard as the role he had played in his previous roles. With the abundance of offers, his manager had tentatively suggested he take his time before auditioning for a role.

 

Coming back to reality, Chan takes a breath and stands up, sick with script revision. “Yes. Vocal lessons, please - for musical films.”

 

“As soon as possible.”

 

Briefly, Chan wonders what’s gotten into him, why he’s made such a sudden decision when he’s the type of person to think things through and weigh out all the possibilities before making a choice. Shaking his head, he chalks it down to the bland monotone feeling that’s been weighing him down recently. A change of scene would do him good, he thinks, and his manager seems to agree, already on the phone and busily  talking with someone.

 

There’s no more news about musicals for the rest of the week, and Chan is back to reading through audition scripts, mind drifting off more often than not. He’s at home this weekend for once, not needing to jet off to film somewhere, though home hardly feels like it. There’s a cold, stale air, like it’s too lonely and it’s been abandoned too many times. It never feels like home, and he misses his childhood, when home was warm and loud and the smell of detergent and _tteokbokki_ . 

 

He hates going home now.

 

The radio had been turned on in an attempt to chase away some of the staleness that Chan can’t seem to get rid of, and the DJ rambles on, finally announcing the name of the next song.

 

“ _The song 19, produced by Han_ ,” The staticky voice says, “ _The long awaited comeback from the nation’s rising singer-producer, is playing now_.”

 

Slumping over on his dining table, Chan fixes his blurry gaze on the radio, letting the first solemn beats roll over him. He’s met Han before, has his number, and has heard of the collaborations and the few songs he had ever sung, as Han produced songs for other artists more often. He hasn't heard of this particular song yet but the chords strike him deep and it feels like he knows this song, for some odd reason. “I just wanna go back, back, back, back,” Chan hums along under his breath, closing his eyes and immersing himself in the music.

 

The song is undeniably nostalgic, a longing for the past, scared for the future, but like this, notes echoing through the emptiness of his living room and kitchen, Chan thinks this space feels the closest to home as it will ever be. There’s a strange feeling creeping up his spine, hot and cold and everything and nothing at the same time, like _he_ should have been a part of this song, like the song means more than it is, not some song on the radio he'll forget in an hour. His eyes glaze over as the song draws to a close, and just as it does, his radio cuts off, leaving a silence and chill that seeps into Chan’s bones, draws frigid fingers around his heart and he wonders why he feels like this about a song that shouldn’t strike his heart this close. .

 

The abrupt ring of his phone sounds like a thousand miles away, but he drops back to the now with a loud thud when he picks up and the first thing his manager says is, “You’ve got a vocal trainer. Lessons start on Monday, we’ll take you to a private studio where he’ll meet you.”

 

Chan blinks. “Oh - Oh. That was fast, hyung. Who’s the trainer? What’s his name?”

 

“Kim Woojin. He’s a pretty well-known vocal trainer, he trained -” His manager names a few famous idols, “- and we’re lucky he could fit you in in such a short amount of time. I’ll brief you more on the lessons later. For now, just relax and remember to keep up your vocal exercises, and we’ll talk about the scripts you might wanna do as well.”

 

“Alright, that sounds good. Thank you, hyung.”

 

Chan’s arm swings down, phone held loosely in his hand and he stands there for a while, frowning at the mess of his dining table, radio now back to life and blaring an overplayed pop song. _Why does the name Kim Woojin sound so familiar_?

 

Monday morning dawns early, and by nine, Chan finds himself trundled out of his bed and into the car, still not quite awake and doing hurried vocal warm ups so the trainer won’t think he’s too much of a disaster. The scenery outside the window passes too fast as he warms up nervously, too conscious of his own voice and head running at full speed with whatever his manager had told him about the vocal trainer.

 

“We’re here,” His manager says, then everything’s a blur as he’s escorted out and into the building, trying to avoid any cameras or fansites that might have spotted him even though he’s wrapped in a coat and has a hat and hood pulled over, with a mask obscuring his face. Escorted upstairs, he waits for maybe all of two seconds outside a private studio before the door swings open and Chan’s looking up to meet -

 

_Bright eyes, a warm smile. A voice that sounds like heaven itself and arms that wrap themselves so tightly around him. Laughter chiming through the sunset and a grass meadow that spells out childhood and home. Warmth is home and home includes him and he belongs, he's a part of this, he belongs._

 

Chan tears himself away from memories he's never created and tries to focus on the man in front of him, not like he's just had a rush of memories that's not his and the floor underneath his feet has been torn away.

 

“Kim Woojin,” The man says, extending his arm, “It’s nice to meet you, Chan-ssi.”

 

“The pleasure is mine,” Chan says and hopes his voice is steady, shaking Woojin’s hand, and tries not to wonder why the feeling of Woojin’s hand in his feels so familiar.

 

“Let’s get started on your vocals then, shall we?” Woojin offers, smiling warmly, and Chan presses down on the strange feeling crawling up his spine once again.

 

“Of course,” Chan says, “Don’t be too disappointed, Woojin-ssi. I didn’t do my warm ups as well as I should have.”

 

Woojin just laughs a little, passing Chan a sheet full of musical staves and with his eyes crinkled, starts.

 

Time stops. Chan finds that he enjoys the vocal lesson more than he thought he really would, coming to know Woojin through the lessons. He learns how to sustain his notes and learns how to sing from his navel rather than his chest, but he also learns that Woojin teaches part-time in a school when he isn’t booked with private lessons and learns that Woojin’s laughter, Woojin’s smile, is something tangible and something palpable, and it’s become the most familiar melody to Chan’s ears.

 

“Like this,” Woojin says, demonstrating how he hits high notes, and Chan studies him intently, silently mimicking the actions of the other. “You try now,” Woojin says, and gestures towards Chan.

 

Slowly, stutteringly, as Chan begins the shaky path to belting notes and hitting high notes, he starts to place the strange feeling that’s been clawing at the back of his mind the whole day. He doesn’t mean to say it, but he does when Woojin says they’re done, and Chan’s voice is scratchy and he’s tired and his mental defences are on the down low.

 

“I feel like I know you,” Chan says, laughing a little to make it seem like he’s joking, “It’s weird.”

 

Woojin’s hand stills over the papers he had been collecting. “Oh,” He says, sounding like the wind had been knocked out of him.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Chan says hastily after a silence, choosing flight over fight and edging towards the door, “That sounds weird, I know, I was - just joking. I’m - gonna go now, Woojin-ssi. Thank you for today! I’ll see you -”

 

“Me too,” Woojin says softly, so softly that Chan’s nervous monologue almost runs his words over, “I feel like I’ve seen you from somewhere else - not like the movies!” He adds hastily, referring to Chan’s acting career, “But like - when I saw you in ‘ _Broken Compass_ ’, I thought I’d seen you before, like I know you - I - I don’t know, it was weird.”

 

Chan just stares at him, hand hovering on the doorknob, unbelieving. He laughs shortly, running a hand through his frantic hair and messing the curly strands even more. “Oh. Oh, I - I see. The world is a strange place, Woojin-ssi. I think - I mean, thank you. For today.”

 

Woojin smiles bemusedly at him. “I’m getting paid to do this, Chan-ssi, I should be thanking you. Anyway, you’re done for today, I’ll see you for the next lesson next week. Thank you.”

 

“See you,” Chan echoes lightly, exiting the door in a daze. Just for a moment, before he returns to his manager who’s waiting for him in the lobby, he leans against the wall and breathes out, exhausted. There’s an empty space in his heart he didn’t know he had before, the edges of it tearing and clawing at him, and he doesn’t know how to fill it, doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, but the memory of Woojin’s laughter, his smile and patience and warmth - it fills a part of that hollowness, eases the jagged edges of his pain just that little bit. Makes it bearable, like he’s been thrown a lifeline.

 

Their lessons continue like that.

 

Somewhere along the way, the tabloids report that Chan’s looking to audition for a musical film, which his company doesn’t deign to respond to. Somewhere along the way, he gets to know Woojin as more of a friend rather than a trainer. Somewhere along the way, their numbers find their way into each others phones.

 

It’s three months later that Chan lands a spot in a musical film, and his manager tells him he doesn’t need to take vocal lessons anymore.

 

“Okay,” Chan agrees.

 

His manager looks at him in surprise. “I thought you’d be more sad than that. You’ve grown close with Woojin-ssi over these months. What’s happened?”

 

Chan just shrugs. “We’re still friends, doesn’t matter if I’m not going to lessons anymore. Just means we have to spend time together in a different way.”

 

And the hollowness and pain inside Chan’s chest still doesn’t go away, still flares up and hurts more often than not, especially with the emptiness of his house and the mundane repeat of his life without work to do, but having Woojin makes it a little better. He doesn’t know why Woojin doesn’t feel like any of the other friends he has, just knows that he knows Woojin, knows Woojin in another way that he can’t place a finger on, knows that Woojin has become and will always be irreplaceable to him.

 

“I’m glad you’re making friends,” His manager says, smiling and clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I’m always worried about you staying up here all alone. Make sure to go out before your schedule becomes packed, okay?”

 

“Don’t worry, hyung, I’ll tell you when I’ll be going out. It’s nice to start working again though, don’t you think so?”

 

“When you’re not being a brat, that is,” His manager teases him back, and Chan engages in a playful tussle with him. When he finally shooes his manager out of his apartment, he comes back to a few texts from Woojin, who’s rapid firing messages at him about a new song that had been released, and Chan stares at them for a while.

 

 _Home_ , he decides, there and then, and it sounds right, blooming warmth and affection in his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

II. a place you can come to

 

Really, Kim Seungmin doesn’t know how he gets into all sorts of things. Perhaps it has something to do with him being a prosecutor. _Lawyers, sinners protected_ , one of his colleagues had remarked in bitter jest after losing one of his cases. Seungmin had kept his mouth shut and returned to the mind-numbing task of filing his paperwork, mindful of his mood.

 

Today, though, Seungmin had been asked by his supervisors to let someone into the meeting room, and it’s with some rising curiosity that he takes the stairs down instead of the elevator - the elevators take an age and smell weird and he is definitely not slightly claustrophobic, no - to the lobby. The lobby is as dreary as always, smelling musty and old with worn couches and a table that breaks when someone throws their newspaper down with too much force. Seungmin tries to stay in the lobby for as little time as is humanly possible; today, he breathes shallowly, tries not to wince, and looks around.

 

There is absolutely no one. Not a single soul whatsoever.

 

Frowning, Seungmin glances at the clock on the wall, all hands and no numbers because management likes to fuck with their heads, and guesses it’s about ten. Just the time they said this person would be arriving. As he’s about to pull his phone out and start a merry-go-round of trying to find out who he’s supposed to be meeting, a figure opens the door and walks in, laden with a heavy file.

 

“Oh, hello,” The man says, looking a little harried, but his clothes are neat and the file in his hand looks well-tabbed, “I’m Hwang Hyunjin, the interior designer?” His smile is bright and inviting, but Seungmin’s tongue twists in his mouth and his mind draws a blank as he tries to formulate an acceptable answer.

 

 _I think I know him_.

 

It takes a few moments for Seungmin to respond. “Ah - it’s - it’s nice to meet you. I’ll take you to the meeting room,” Seungmin says, for lack of better words. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels this awkward when he based a career off his knack of conversation and argument, but there’s something sticking in the air between them, heavy and expectant. Even Hyunjin falls silent, the bright smile replaced by demure seriousness as they leave the lobby behind and come to stand in the corridor..

 

Seungmin jabs the elevator button, forgetting that he usually takes the stairs out of sheer nervousness. He chances a glance at Hyunjin and jolts. Hyunjin is already staring at him, studying the side profile of his face with an intensity that Seungmin should find surprising, but more than anything, he finds himself relaxing.

 

“Hyunjin-ssi?” Seungmin asks quietly. The elevator will not be here for a while.  

 

Hyunjin doesn’t respond at first, eyes now trained on the slope of Seungmin’s nose and the curve of his neck, then Seungmin’s voice snaps into him. “Oh,” Hyunjin yelps, “Oh - I’m - I’m so sorry, that was weird, I’m sorry - I thought you looked like someone I know…”

 

“Seungmin,” Seungmin supplies, “Kim Seungmin. I’m one of the prosecutors working here. And - and I look like someone you know?”

 

Hyunjin just scratches the back of his neck embarrassedly, now looking to the elevators; one is stuck on the top floor and the other is held up on the floor above them. “I mean - you looked familiar. I don’t know anyone that looks like you, but you looked so familiar to me, I don’t know.”

 

Seungmin just laughs a little, a punch to his gut. “Actually, I… I thought you looked like someone I once knew too.” He wonders how small the world must be, for him to meet Hyunjin in busy, bustling Seoul where you never see the same person twice.

 

“No way,” Hyunjin says, sounding like his breath has been stolen from his chest, “No way. Seungmin-ssi, you’re joking.”

 

“Am not,” Seungmin replies, and an elevator finally arrives, the chime it makes breaking the incredulous expression on Hyunjin’s face. “Small world, isn’t it?”

 

“Nah,” Hyunjin says, clutching the file tighter to him as he sorts through the sling bag he had brought, “I’ve never seen the same person more than once since moving to Seoul. I don’t think I’ve even seen my neighbour twice… But you, Seungmin-ssi, I think I’ve known you before. Like when I was younger or something.”

 

“I can’t believe you’d forget a face like mine,” Seungmin snorts, busying himself with pressing the floor for the meeting rooms so he won’t have to look at Hyunjin. Won’t have to look because his heart hurts for some reason, like he’s a lost a past he didn’t know he had with the man, like he knew Hyunjin once and had cared for him so much, like time had changed and they no longer mattered to each other.

 

“I won’t be forgetting you anytime soon,” Hyunjin laughs, gesturing for Seungmin to exit the elevator first, following him to the meeting rooms.

 

“They’re in there,” Seungmin says, sweeping a hand to the closed door, where a few figures can be made out sitting in the room through the frosted glass of the door. “I’ll see you around, Hyunjin-ssi.”

 

“You will,” Hyunjin says, throwing Seungmin a smile over his shoulder, “I’m here to redesign your lobby and the meeting rooms. You’ll have to see my face for a long, long while.”

 

And he does. Hyunjin sticks around for a long time, popping in almost every week to discuss the new design and functionality of the lobby and meeting rooms, and how long the process will take, and where they’d have to move everything before the rooms were ready. But more than, Hyunjin finds him. Finds him when he’s on his lunch break, finds him when he finishes work, finds him to exchange numbers and suggests they go hangout one day.

 

“Friends, Seungmin-ssi?” Hyunjin asks, something like three weeks later, when he’s waiting for Seungmin to pack his things to go home.

 

“Drop the _-ssi_ ,” Is all Seungmin says, but he’s smiling so widely that his cheeks are going to start hurting soon, and he’s sure the same smile is reflected on Hyunjin’s face as well.

 

“Let’s go get some coffee, Seungmin-ah!” Hyunjin yells when they exit the office building, shedding their work personas and assuming a more relaxed stance, “Do you wanna get some coffee?”

 

“Why ask me when you’ve already decided?” Seungmin jabs, a little pout forming on his lips.

 

“Or let’s go grab dinner? We haven’t had dinner together before… Oh - hey, do you wanna come? My friend asked me if we wanna eat dinner together!”

 

“Oh - I shouldn’t -”

 

“Hey, he said it’s fine, look -” Hyunjin flashes Seungmin his phone screen, where a chat with someone called Jeongin is displayed, “- and he wants to eat at that _tteokbokki_ place you like, so…?”

 

“If you’re sure,” Seungmin says a little hesitantly, but then in a heartbeat, they’re stopping at Seungmin’s place for him to leave his bag and change into more casual clothes and headed for the restaurant.

 

Hyunjin had offered to drive them there, even if it was Seungmin’s car, and Seungmin had agreed, feeling too lazy to do anything much. As Hyunjin drives, humming softly under his breath, Seungmin wonders why Hyunjin, of all the people he had ever met, could fit into his life so smoothly, could fill the gnawing cavity in his chest he didn’t he had so easily, could make Seungmin feel this comfortable so fast. Seungmin wonders why Hyunjin, an interior designer, who by all means, he would have never met if it wasn’t for the higher ups, or the dreadful lobby, would be the one to brighten his days. Seungmin wonders why he feels like he’s known Hyunjin before, and that he’s rediscovering quirks about Hyunjin that he recognises only after he sees Hyunjin doing them.

 

“You know,” Hyunjin starts, “When I met Jeongin - that’s the friend we’re meeting - I felt the same way when I met you. Like I knew him. It was weird, and I thought it would be just a one time thing, but I guess not.” He lets out a short laugh, like he’s afraid Seungmin will find him weird.

 

Seungmin hums, playing with his fingers. “I - I know what you mean. I’ve met a few people before, when they came for advice, and - and I felt the same way, but I couldn’t tell them. That would be weird.”

 

Hyunjin turns to look at him, having stopped at a red light. “It would,” He says softly, “But I’m glad you’re my friend.”

 

 _Stupid_ , Seungmin thinks as Hyunjin pulls over on the side ten minutes later to receive a phone call, _stupid Hyunjin and his stupid words that make me cry_. It’s like he’s found a piece of home, Seungmin realises as Hyunjin hangs up and tells him sheepishly that dinner will just be the two of them, as Jeongin forgot it was parent’s evening tonight and he was a teacher. It’s like he’s found something he never knew he missed, as Hyunjin rambles on about the restaurant and what he wants to order. It’s like he’s found someone he knows has meant so much to him, and will be so much to him, as Hyunjin suggests ordering all of Seungmin’s favourite dishes unknowingly.

 

“Me too,” Seungmin says suddenly, after they’ve sat down and ordered their food. “Me too.”

 

At first, Hyunjin frowns, the crease in his forehead becoming prominent before it smooths out, and he’s smiling, a soft light in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but Seungmin doesn’t need his words to know they’re both on the same level.

 

Like this, in the restaurant’s warm lighting and warm, buzzing atmosphere, Seungmin almost thinks their booth seems too empty, like there should be more people around them, should be noisier than the two of their voices, but it’s okay - Hyunjin’s with him, and the loneliness is abated. Not gone, still there, but it’s okay.

 

And as time passes, Seungmin starts to find the restaurant home, not because of the food, nor for the atmosphere, but because of Hyunjin, and then more people, and then their booth will be overcrowded one day, but Seungmin doesn’t know that yet.

 

He still has time.

 

* * *

 

 

III. we going higher, we going up

 

“Congratulations,” They say to him, and Minho tries not to let the tears fall, dashing at his eyes furiously.

 

“Thanks,” Minho says shakily, torn between laughter and tears, “Thank you, hyung. I - I don’t know. Thank you.”

 

“You deserve it,” One of his hyungs say, “You worked so hard for this. You’ll do well, Minho-ah. Make your hyungs proud, okay?”

 

“I will,” Minho affirms, “I will. I won’t let you down, I’ll work so hard.”

 

And then, just like that, after many hugs and claps on his back and hair ruffled, Minho’s left alone in the dance studio for the first time since he embarked on a career as a dancer. _You’re going to debut_ , the CEO had told him last week, _you’re going to debut solo. We’re looking for a songwriter and producer to help you make your debut album, so your preparations for the album start now. Minho, work your hardest, yeah?_ The unsaid, _things could change and your debut might never happen_ , went heard, but now he’s just caught wind from his manager that they’d landed a songwriter and a producer, and everything was about to fall into place.

 

Minho looks into the mirror, foggy with sweat and use, and tries to remember how everything had happened. As he traces the edges of his blurred reflection, the memories come rushing back, sending him into a spiral.

 

_A young him, dancing clumsily on stage, memories blurred. Then, older now, but still younger, putting on a cover performance of a popular song, feeling the adrenaline rush, and the noona who comes to him, tells him he has a knack for dancing. Older once again, joining a dance crew and now running in line with people who love dancing as much as him, and watching an idol perform on stage, admiration and want swelling up in him. And three years ago, auditioning, getting rejected, auditioning again, the marathon continuous and arduous, but finally he’s accepted, and trainee life is hard but the goal of debuting has become his fervent dream._

 

_The friends he makes along the way - some leave to debut, some leave to go back, some stay, some disappear. He doesn’t quite fit in with the little cliques the trainees have made, but it’s fine. Minho wanders, knows he’ll fit in somewhere eventually. Except he doesn’t. He makes friends, yes, but there is no chemistry between them, knows he won’t be a part of the final line-up. Somewhere along the way, he assumes he’ll debut solo, assumes he’ll be a dancer, assumes his time will run out eventually._

 

And now, at the age of 22, he’s going to debut. He knows he won’t get as much activity album-wise, for the company was planning to promote him as a dancer, creating his own choreography and putting out more performances and dances rather than songs, but - Minho doesn’t _care_. He’s going to debut, and his dream is just within reach. He can hold on for a little longer.

 

It’s the next day when Minho is called to one of the studios in the company, and with some trepidation, he enters. Sat at the table is his manager and -

 

“This is Han, you probably know him,” His manager says, and a young man smiles at him, standing up, floppy brown hair falling into his eyes, “He’ll help produce some of the tracks on your album. And that’s Felix. He’s a songwriter, and he’ll do the same as well.” The other man, with a shock of blonde hair, smiles warmly at Minho, extending a hand.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Felix says, voice gravelly, as Minho’s manager slips out. “I’m so pleased I can work with you for your debut album, Minho-ssi.”

 

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Han says, shaking Minho’s hand as well, “Your manager and CEO spoke very highly of you.”

 

The floor beneath Minho’s feet seems to fall away. Not just from two famous artists sitting in the studio, but also because the more Minho looks at them, the more he takes in the way they stand and the pinch of their cheeks and the sharpness of their jaws, the more he feels like he _knows_ them.

 

Quickly snapping himself out of it, Minho smiles back, heart thundering a hundred miles in his chest. “I - It’s my pleasure, I had no idea I would work with such famous artists, I’m just - _wow_.”

 

At that, Felix waves his hands embarrassedly and Han chuckles a little. “Thank you,” Han says, eyes soft and sparkling, “But really, we’re just someone who loves music, in the end. Besides, I’ve heard plenty about you, Minho-ssi. You’re famous among dancer communities - my friend talks about you often, and it seems like people have been waiting for your debut.”

 

“Ah, no -”

 

“I’ve heard that too,” Felix pipes in, “The tabloids called you this company’s jewel trainee, didn’t they? There are high expectations for your album, so - let’s smash and top those expectations, yeah?”

 

To be working with big, upcoming names in the industry, Minho feels slightly overwhelmed, but the two of them are warm and friendly, coming up with concepts and ideas and prompting Minho for some of his own ideas. Without his manager around, there’s a chance for them to slip off the heavy gauntlet of business, and Han tells them to call him Jisung, his real name.

 

“I like to get to know my artists well,” Jisung explains, “That way, I know what kind of song would suit them more, rather than blindly producing and making the artists fit the song instead. You seem to have a special style that I’d like to capture in a song, right, Felix-ssi?”

 

“Yes,” Felix agrees, “I’d love to work really closely with you on the lyrics, Minho-ssi. I kind of think you fit a sexy - no, not sexy - um… sensual!” Felix exclaims, clapping his hands together, “A very sensual vibe. You know how to feel yourself and you know how to make the audience vibe with you, in a way, from what I see in the performance videos you have.”

 

Jisung nods his head, already starting to mess around on his laptop. “I definitely agree with you. Sensual can be the base for us to start working… What do you think, Minho-ssi?”

 

“I think it’s great,” Minho says, voice leaking honesty, “My hyungs said I do sensual performances well, so I think I can go far with that. I’d love to write the lyrics too…” He says, trailing off before picking up, explaining what some of the ideas he’s had, some of the lyrics he’s written. “If that’s okay, I want to be involved in the production as well, just to see how my style is going to develop,” He adds shyly. “If it’s okay, Jisung-ssi.”

 

Jisung smiles, wide and encouraging. “That’s even better, in fact.”

 

Just like that, the production of his album commences. Somehow, the tabloids - probably Dispatch at it again - pick up that he’s going to debuting soon, and soon there are articles everywhere speculating if he’s about to debut. Most are positive, most are encouraging and expectant, but some are scathing, saying he’s getting too old, saying he can only dance and isn’t an idol. He tries not to pay attention to them, but all the news adds to the pressure on him, the album now needing to be perfect lest it dropped below the expectations of the death-hungry netizens and critics.

 

The pressure is exorbitant, but Minho finds himself feeding off it, nervousness becoming restless energy that he expends on preparing and recording the songs, then creating the choreography for the title track even if the final version hasn’t been recorded yet. He’s got too much energy, and he wants to make it perfect, so he throws himself into it, gives his all and his best.

 

As he gets to know Jisung and Felix, he gets closer to them. The bright, shiny image they have as artists on stage is folded away when it’s just the three of them in the studio, and they’re more like young, carefree adults, careless and happy even when working. The professional mantle is often dropped, and they’re relaxed around each other as Minho learns to produce with Jisung and structure his songs with Felix, each finished song resulting in a loud cheer and an impromptu hug pile.

 

The feeling that Minho knows them from somewhere else still doesn’t fade; in fact, it grows stronger and stronger until he learns of their habits and the things they say and their laugher becomes part of his day. This is where he belongs, he realises abruptly one day, when he’s hanging over Jisung’s shoulder and squinting at the screen where Jisung is asking him if the beat is suitable.

 

Where he belongs, with Jisung and Felix and in the studio, days spent together warm and precious. It doesn’t feel like they’re separate artists; it feels like he’s part of a team, working towards a final goal together. His album comes together slowly, song by song, each recorded to perfection and weaving together the final style that Minho will carry for his career. Somewhere along the way, he finishes choreographing the dance for the title track as well and then -

 

The album is complete.

 

“Well, we’ll be coming to your showcase,” Felix says lightly, hovering at the entrance of the studio, “Congratulations, Minho-ssi.”

 

“You’re still calling me - _ssi_ after this long?” Minho asks, laughing a little, but he can’t help feel sad at the thought of them leaving. He had come to expect to spend his days with them, and he’s sure he’ll feel the loneliness more bluntly now that he had fit in somewhere.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Jisung says, “C’mon, let’s swap numbers. We’re friends now, the three of us. We have each other’s back in this industry and outside too.”

 

And maybe Minho’s days will become lonelier without them, will be less sunshine without them, but he’s found where he’s fit in, found a place he can come back to, and he won’t let them go.

 

“See you,” He says, waving a hand and smiling gently.

 

“See you,” Jisung says, smile big and bright.

 

“See you,” Felix says too, eyes crinkling.

 

It won’t be the last time he meets them, Minho is sure.

 

* * *

 

 

IV. we’ll return when we drift apart

 

 _God_ , Changbin thinks to himself, staring blankly at his laptop screen, _why is it so hard to write_? Then from his shelf, the books he’s published leer back at him, reminding him that he needs to be writing his sequel to Broken Compass.

 

Broken Compass. The book that had projected him to a household name, the book that had been adapted into a movie, the book that now the world was hinging for a sequel on. The book that had led him to getting to know Bang Chan, one of the lead actors in the movie, and Han, the producer who had made the infamous soundtrack that accompanied the movie. He’s pretty sure he has their numbers in his phone somewhere, and to this day he still can’t put a name to the feeling he gets when he sees them, can’t, for all his flair with his words and his sentences, describe the feeling he gets when he sees them.

 

The feeling that they’ve met before, somehow.

 

When he had first met Chan during auditions, there was something about the other man that had inexplicably drawn Changbin to him. He had watched the actor closely, observing his audition, and with each sentence, with each word that he enunciated, Changbin couldn’t help but feel that he had once known and would be able to imitate how Chan would speak. It was strange, feeling like that. At the time, he had ascribed it to him feeling the aftereffects of writing a particularly depressing scene in his novel; two months after that, when Chan was casted, he was sure it wasn’t just that day.

 

And when Han had been asked to create the soundtrack, Changbin came to meet him at the producer’s insistence, saying that he needed to catch the feeling of not just the movie but also the novel. Changbin had the same sense of dejavu that he had felt upon meeting Chan, gravitating towards the producer in a second. And once again, Changbin, with all his words, had failed to put a name to the strange feeling that had wrapped itself around his head.

 

Still, by the time the movie was completed, he had both Chan and Jisung’s numbers, and they went out for coffee when their schedules matched. Sometime ago, Chan had created a chat between the three of them, claiming he was sick and tired of texting the same thing to two different people when they tried to meet up. The picture of their group was a picture of a bottle of hot sauce Chan happened to have in his gallery, and Changbin never questioned it.

 

Now once again focusing on the blinking cursor on his screen, Changbin sighs. Honestly, he doesn’t know how he managed to finish Broken Compass in the first place, let alone for it to become as popular as it was, and now the words _aren’t coming to his mind whatsoever_.

 

“Fuck you,” He says out loud to his laptop, like it’ll help anything.

 

Deciding that maybe he’s been cooped up for too long and hasn’t eaten anything, he gets up, shrugging into a jacket to head down to the convenience store to grab some _ramyun_ or something. He would have tried to cook something, but he’s absolutely exhausted from trying to wring words from his brain and he just wants to get the day over at this rate.

 

The moment he exits his apartment however, he’s greeted by the sight of an abundance of boxes stacked up the door next to his. He blinks.

 

“Oh - I’m sorry for the mess, I’ve just started moving in…” A young man says, appearing from inside the apartment next to his and trailing off as he sees Changbin. “I - oh, my god - you - you’re Seo Changbin?” The man squeaks, looking shocked and visibly freezing in place.

 

Changbin shrugs helplessly. “Me, yes.”

 

“Aren’t you like, _famous_?” The man asks incredulously, “Shouldn’t you be somewhere more protected?”

 

Changbin finds that it’s funny they’re having this conversation in the corridor, with a myriad of boxes keeping them company. “I’m just an author, not an idol,” He says, “I don’t have sasaengs.” He pauses, assesses their surroundings then asks, “Are you moving in, then?” It’s a beat later that he realises it’s kind of a stupid question to ask, what with the mess around them.

 

“Oh - yes. Yes I am. I'm Yang Jeongin, I've just started teaching at the elementary school nearby, that's why I've moved here… I didn't expect to be moving in next door to someone famous,” Jeongin laughs, picking his way over the boxes to shake Changbin’s hand.

 

“Fame is a perceived value,” Changbin says vaguely, “I just stay low and keep quiet. The security here is pretty good and I don’t have to worry too much. Welcome to the apartment, at any rate. I'm sure I won't bother you too often, Jeongin-ssi.” Still, as he studies Jeongin more and more, listens as Jeongin explain when he moved in and that he's sorry if he'll noisy, he starts to feel like Jeongin is familiar. Familiar in a way like he knows Jeongin, though that's not possible, _can't_ be possible.

 

“It's fine, you won't disturb me. In fact, I need to be disturbed. I've been trying to write for so long but nothing’s coming… in fact, I'm gonna grab some food from the convenience store nearby, you wanna come?” Changbin isn't too sure why he's offering, isn't sure why he feels like he should take care and show the other man around when Jeongin is perfectly capable of doing it himself, but something about Jeongin, his round eyes and small smile and energetic aura reminds him of someone he knew a long time ago.

 

 _Like a younger brother_ , his mind supplies.

 

“Ah - yeah, sure! Let me just grab my stuff and I'll be right back.”

 

Coincidence, Changbin tries to convince himself as he slowly realises that the feeling he gets when seeing Jeongin is one and the same with the feeling he gets from seeing Chan and Jisung. Coincidence, Changbin tells the voice in his brain that refuses to shut up, when Jeongin looks up at him when he's reaching for something on the bottom shelf and a wave of protective instinct rises in him, strong and dizzying. Coincidence, he refutes weakly, when he insists he pay for the food despite Jeongin having the money to pay for his own share.

 

“You know, you remind me of like… a hyung,” Jeongin says, voice a little quiet as they eat the ramyun in the convenience store, “Like, I know you.” Jeongin hits a beat, lets the silence around them stretch, then, “I'm sorry, you must think this is weird, I -”

 

“You can call me hyung,” Changbin says. “I'm older than you, aren't I?”

 

Jeongin hesitates. “I mean, I wasn't trying to -”

 

“You can call me hyung, Jeongin-ah,” Changbin reiterates, softening at the unsure expression Jeongin has, “It's okay. Forget my fame for a moment. I'm just another person, like you. Your neighbour hyung, that's gonna bother you from now on.” He laughs at the indignant squawk Jeongin releases, but he feels light, feels that it's right to be Jeongin’s hyung, right to hear Jeongin’s moaning that he’s never gonna get peace and quiet now.

 

Feels like the world had aligned in a way that has never before in this lifetime.

 

* * *

 

 

V. this moment is a good thing

 

“You have a day off tomorrow,” Chan’s manager says one evening, when they’re going through his schedule. “After tomorrow, you’re going to start preparing and shooting for the film, so your schedule will become a lot heavier.” His manager looks up, sparing him a smile and a fatherly hug. “Go home, Chan. Go visit your family tomorrow and take whatever time you have to visit your friends. It’ll do you plenty of good.”

 

Chan looks up from yet again another script - this time the one for the musical he’s going to film starting next week. “Really? A whole free day and I can go home?”

 

“Don’t act like you don’t go home every month,” His manager says, laughing, “Go on, get out of here and get ready to go home.”

 

So he does. He rushes home then, calling his parents and relaying the news, all the while throwing some clothes into an overnight. Even after all this time, even after growing up, even after becoming an adult, Chan still can’t help the rush of excitement and warmth that fills his chest when he knows he’s going to be going back. Maybe because it’s his first home, will be a forever home that is always there to welcome him back, still smelling like detergent and _tteokbokki_ and his childhood.

 

He goes back the next day.

 

“Why are you back,” His younger sister complains the exact second he walks in, “Go away. I see your face on the television often enough, I’m sick of it.”

 

“Love you too,” Chan coos, pinching her cheek and planting a messy kiss on her cheek, trying to embarrass her. “Don’t you miss me, hmm?”

 

“Never,” She says, but tackles Chan onto the couch and initiates a tickle fight.

 

Going home is always good, Chan thinks. Good in the way his mother fusses over him and tells him he did well in the small drama series he took part it. Good in the way his father congratulates him over the lead role he’s landed in the musical film and promises to take him to dinner. Good in the way his older sister comes home too, this time singing praises about her two young children, whom she had just dropped off in school.

 

“They go to elementary school now,” His older sister says, glowing with pride, “It’s just the school nearby. We’re so proud.”

 

“How’s noona?” Chan asks her, watching some drama series on television and trying to momentarily forget he’s an actor too.

 

“As usual,” She says, waving a dismissive hand, “Loves the kids and loves me.”

 

“Ah, young love,” Their mother sighs dreamily, walking past.

 

“Coming from you and appa?” His sister says, “Impossible.”

 

Home is always good, Chan decides, even though his home is growing old. There are more lines around his mother’s eyes, and his sister looks older, more tired even though she’s still young. Even his younger sister is growing into her age now, about to graduate from university soon, and his father is slower, his hair thinner. Home will always be good, no matter how old, Chan thinks as he helps his mother prepare lunch, settling in comfortably to the domesticity of it.

 

It’s after lunch that Chan volunteers to pick his nephew and niece up. “I need to spend time with them too,” He says, whining just a little. “I never get to see them when I’m away for filming and they’ve started school already, what if I never see them again for the next three years?”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” His sister snorts. “I was just worried about _you_. Aren’t you gonna get recognised if you go like this?”

 

Chan shrugs. “I’ll call my manager and ask him if that’s okay. Besides, it’s just an elementary school, I think it’ll be hard to get mobbed by a crowd of kids.”

 

It takes a half hour, but Chan gets the green light from his manager and he’s pottering around, finding a hat and a mask so he’s at least somewhat protected. The walk from his parent’s house to the elementary school takes maybe ten minutes, and it’s a cool evening out, the wind carding softly through his curls and ruffling his hat away from his eyes.

 

As the elementary school draws into his sight, he takes note of the secondary school building located just next door, and with the same name, the schools are probably linked. Cars are starting to queue up outside the entrance to the elementary school and Chan is momentarily thankful that he didn’t choose to drive, hating to get stuck in queues. Stepping into the building, his eyes take a wide sweep of the mass of people in the common area, children jostling and shouting and teachers soothing and holding; parents rush in to swing their children up into their arms, laughing and asking how their day went.

 

It’s lovely, Chan thinks, heart warming.

 

In the midst of the crowd of people, he spots his niece and nephew - Seoyoon and Hajoon - clinging and whining to a teacher, who looks relatively young, even among elementary school teachers. As he draws closer, picking his way through the mass of bodies, he starts hearing their voices over the din of the room.

 

“ _Seonsaengnim_ ,” Hajoon says, his voice petulant and tugging on the teacher’s long sleeve, “We want candy, please?”

 

“Yeah!” Seoyoon adds, her voice much louder and almost about to enter shrieking territory, “We did well on our test today, right, _seonsaengnim_?”

 

The teacher just laughs a little, seemingly resistant to the whining and puppy eyes the children are giving him. “Your parents won’t like it if I give you candy without you knowing, right? We should ask your parents first, shouldn’t we?” He waits for the reluctant _yes_ to fall from their pouty mouths before he’s ruffling their hair and adding, “Both of you did very well on the test today, I’ll be sure to tell your parents, hmm?”

 

Just then, he looks up, catching Chan’s eye, who has just come to stop in front of them. He stares at Chan for a while, like he can’t quite place his face, then his eyes are widening and his mouth is dropping. “You - You - You’re -” He stammers, then the children leave his side and rush into Chan’s arms, shouting and squealing with excitement.

 

“You’re back!” Seoyoon shrieks as Chan lifts her up into a huge hug.

 

“Did you come to pick us up?” Hajoon asks, eyes wide with innocence and hope, then opens his arms for Chan to hug him too.

 

“Yes I did,” Chan says, giggling at their obvious happiness, “Happy?”

 

“Yes!” Hajoon says, as Seoyoon turns to tug at their teacher. As she babbles on about Chan being their uncle and that he’s been on television before, the teacher just blinks a little slowly at him, like he can’t believe the sight in front of his eyes.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Chan starts, extending his hand, “I’m Chan, I think you might have seen me around,” He says, laughing a little. “Are you Seoyoon and Hajoon’s teacher?”

 

“Oh, yes,” The teacher says, snapping out of his haze, “My name is Yang Jeongin, it’s my pleasure, Chan-ssi. I’m their teacher yes, I just started here not too long ago, actually.” He shakes Chan’s hand, then like he’s a little shy, peers at him through his bangs and fusses with the children’s backpack straps.

 

“Don’t be too awkward,” Chan says, keeping his tone light and friendly, “Just treat me like anyone else, Jeongin-ssi. I’m not the actor today, I’m just their _samchon_ who’s here to pick them up from school.”

 

“Ice cream?” Seoyoon asks, turning the puppy eyes on Chan now, having been quietly listening to their conversation previously, and it’s obvious she had been longing to ask this question with the way she wraps her arms around Chan’s waist, arms not quite reaching.

 

“Ask your _eomma_ first,” Chan says without looking at her, because he’s weak for her puppy eyes and she knows it.

 

“We did well on our test today,” Hajoon adds slyly, slipping his small hand into Chan’s.

 

Jeongin manages to laugh a little when he watches them gang up on Chan. “They always do that, according to Woojin-hyung,” He says, more to himself than anyone, but Chan’s head jerks up, looking at him intently.

 

“Woojin?”

 

Jeongin frowns a little, confused. “One of the teachers who works here. Do you want to meet him, Chan-ssi?”

 

Chan just shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, I think I got someone mixed up, I just know someone with the same name.” He turns his attention back to the children, who are by now clamouring at full pitch for ice cream as a reward, and he sighs fondly. “Alright, we’ll get you ice cream, kids. But you’ll have to wait, I need to ask someone to get it for me, yeah?”

 

“Because you’re famous,” Seoyoon says seriously.

 

“And you need to be safe,” Hajoon adds.

 

“We’ll protect you!” They say in unison, and Chan bursts into laughter.

 

“That you will, I’m sure. Well, I’ll see you around, Jeongin-ssi. Say bye to your teacher now, kids!”

 

“Why do I keep meeting famous people,” Jeongin mutters under his breath as he waves and watches Chan leave, the two children glued to his sides and presumably chatting his ear off.

 

With the children slowly all filing out and being picked up by parents, he waits for a while until the last stragglers leave, distracting them with funny stories and stickers so they wouldn’t notice how late it was. The last time, there was still a boy left when it was six in the evening, and he had to call his parents.

 

Still, now, he gets to go home. Home, that is now an empty apartment with boxes littered everywhere, not quite a home yet, still a house. It smells of fresh paint and wood shavings and a new start and Jeongin is scared but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Leaving Busan for Seoul to start working had been admittedly nerve wracking but it gives him a stronger sense of being an actual adult, not a teenager wearing a mask with his age scrawled on it that supposedly pronounced him as an adult.

 

As he drives back, the feeling of meeting Chan floods his mind again. He had, of course, been shocked to see a famous actor standing in front of him like nothing wrong was happening, and after his brain recovered from its shutdown, a sense of dejavu had enveloped him like a cocoon, thick and stifling.

 

_Being the youngest, dodging hugs and high yelps with pulled into an unsuspecting cuddle session. Dark recording studios and the paper in front him littered with scrawls and notes in two different handwritings. Sweat blurring his eyes as someone teaches him how to dance and the bright laughter and high-five he gets when he nails the dance._

 

A car honks from behind him and breaks him out of his reverie.

 

 _It’s nothing_ , Jeongin tells himself firmly as he maneuvers his car into his parking slot and grabs his stuff from the passenger seat. _It’s nothing_ , _you’re not going to meet him again_ , _just forget about it_.

 

Even as he repeats these words to himself, he meets Changbin, who’s just about to leave his house.

 

“Hi, hyung,” Jeongin says, still a little shy.

 

“Hi Jeongin-ah,” Changbin greets, “Back from work?”

 

“The kids were good today,” Jeongin agrees, rummaging for his keys inside his pocket. “How are you? Are you going somewhere?”

 

“About to run on a favour for a friend,” Changbin huffs, looking like he isn’t too pleased, but it’s all in good nature when he smiles a second later. “Do you know Bang Chan, the actor? He acted in the movie adaptation of my book and we’ve become friends. He’s asking me to get ice cream and drop it off as his parent’s house for his niece and nephew because he can’t go the shop without risking the cameras.”

 

Jeongin just stares at him, keys dropping from his limp fingers to the floor.

 

“Jeong… in?”

 

“I met him today,” Jeongin whispers, “At the school.”

 

Changbin waits.

 

“I didn’t know you knew each other. Why do I keep meeting famous people?” Jeongin blurts out. He looks rather distressed at the thought, like he can’t quite process it yet and really, he needs to lie down for an hour or two. He’s getting too old for this.

 

Changbin just snorts, clapping Jeongin’s shoulder as he heads for the elevator. “It’s your luck, Jeongin-ah. Maybe if you’re lucky, next time you’ll get to know someone that’s not famous.”

 

Jeong just sighs, and watches another famous person leave for the second time that day. “I’m too tired for this,” He mumbles, that trips forward into his apartment and falls down on the couch.

 

He stays like that until his phone is ringing loudly, the name _Woojinnie-hyung_ flashing on his screen. He doesn’t wake up though, fast asleep.

 

The phone glows in the dark, the name bright white in the darkness of the room until it fades away.

 

* * *

 

 

VI. come find me

 

It had been one text in an age-old group that no one had left, miraculously. _We’re having a reunion for our year in school_ , one of Seungmin’s old classmates had said, _anyone who’s free on the 14th can come. We’re just meeting in the auditorium and there’s gonna be food and drinks. Bring people if you want_ . In a moment, the chat - with something like _all_ the students in his year - had been spammed with some asking questions about the reunion and others responding yes to the invitation.

 

Seungmin had stared at the message and spent the rest of his night scrolling through the members in the group. Names he recognised and names he still knew, names he had forgotten and names he wanted to forget burn into his eyes and come the next morning, he’s made up his mind texted a short _I’ll be coming_ to the group.

 

It’s only until a week before the reunion that Seungmin realises he hasn’t really kept in close contact with anyone and he’ll be arriving alone. He _really_ doesn’t want to arrive alone, let alone face some of the people he never really liked in high school alone, and he’s worried he’ll just be lofting and wandering around if he doesn’t see anyone.

 

In a fit of panic, he calls Hyunjin. In the middle of day while he’s at work. Not the smartest thing he’s done, he supposes.

 

“You have to go with me!” Seungmin whispers urgently, ducking under his desk as one of his supervisors walk past. Pretending he’s looking through his file cabinets, he nestles his phone between his ear and his shoulder and balances a pile of files on his lap precariously.

 

“ _It’s not like I know anyone_ ,” Hyunjin cries on the other side of the line, not bothered about keeping quiet at all, since he was at home, working on a project. “ _Give me three good reasons I should go with you, Kim Seungmin-ssi_.”

 

“One, we’re friends,” Seungmin starts, hurriedly shuffling the papers so his hands look busy. “Two, I’ll treat you to _samgyeopsal_ after the reunion. And three - uh - um… you’ll… feel guilty if you don’t go with me.”

 

A beat passes, then Hyunjin’s groaning and Seungmin smiles, knowing he’s won this time. “ _Fine, whatever. You better get that samgyeopsal, Min._ ”

 

“Whatever,” Seungmin dismisses right back, “See you.”

 

“ _Ungrateful_ ,” Hyunjin huffs, then a softer, “ _See you_ .” Seungmin’s left with the long _beep_ of his phone that signals Hyunjin’s hung up and he sits back on his chair properly, wondering what’s become of his life.

 

How do high school reunions work? Seungmin has no idea. He has hardly seen any of his high school friends since he graduated, only remaining in contact with maybe five and meeting up with them sparingly, occasionally. Even then, the conversation had been awkward. Stilted, even, as they bumbled around asking the obvious questions - _how are you, what job do you do, are you married, do you have children_.

 

Seungmin didn’t even know why it was this awkward. They had been fine in high school, surrounded by teachers and homework and exams and they had laughed and fought and cried. True, Seungmin hadn’t necessarily felt a very strong attachment to them, but he grieves over the loss of meaning they once had. Time, once again, had found its way to them, seeping in through the cracks and widening the river between them, wrought it’s iron fist over them and made light of the precious times they spent together.

 

Friends once, time had whispered, acquaintances now.

 

Seungmin doesn’t know who are his friends anymore.

 

Fools, time laughs.

 

The 14th dawns rainy, and Seungmin momentarily thought it was night when he first looked out. Hyunjin shows up at nine in the morning bearing a wet umbrella and a sunny smile.

 

“Terrible weather,” He says cheerfully, fixing himself a cup of coffee and making himself very much at home. “Lovely day to have a reunion, hmm?” At least he makes Seungmin a cup as well.

 

Seungmin just shuffles into the shower.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he emerges, much more awake and now fresh-faced and fresh-breathed, he sets out on making some breakfast, though it seems Hyunjin had beaten him to it. There are fried eggs on two plates sitting on the counter, with a loaf of bread Seungmin had no idea he had in his own kitchen, and it looks like Hyunjin is cutting up fruits.

 

“Did you cook breakfast?”

 

“What does this look like, trash?”

 

“Gee, who’s grumpy in the morning.”

 

“Says the one who didn’t even say anything after opening the door? Here, let’s eat,” Hyunjin provides a peace offering as he shoves a piece of orange in Seungmin’s mouth and they settle down to eat breakfast.

 

Hyunjin observes Seungmin as they eat in silence, both too distracted by the food to make any proper conversation. It feels awfully familiar, sitting down and eating together in the morning, even if they haven’t done it before. Like once, he and Seungmin would have eaten breakfast together, the noise in the room deafening the them of that time but now the only din that deafens them is the ringing silence.

 

“Leave them,” Seungmin calls as he disappears into his bedroom, “I’ll wash the dishes when we come back. We should go out a bit earlier -”

 

“Because of the rain,” Hyunjin agrees, stacking the dishes in the sink and running water over them briefly before shutting the tap. “I’ll drive, is that okay?”

 

“ _Just don’t crash us_!” Is all Seungmin says, voice muffled by the door and the shirt he’s sliding over his head.

 

“No, I won’t crash us,” Hyunjin pauses, sliding into the driver’s seat, “I’d crash so only you get squashed.”

 

“ _You_ -”

 

Hyunjin is saved by the rapid succession of chimes by Seungmin’s phone, then he’s absorbed in texting whoever messages him, fingers flying over the keyboard as he replies. He drives in thoughtful silence, accompanied by the click of Seungmin’s keyboard and eventually the radio when he remembers to turn it on.

 

The song that’s playing is oddly familiar to Hyunjin.

 

“ _Laying down restless, regretting life choices_ ,” The lyrics sing, the voice deep, deeper than Hyunjin has ever heard, voice smooth and emotional at the same time. He wonders who sang it. Wonders why he seems to know the lyrics that will come next. He hums softly under his breath, mindful not to break Seungmin’s concentration, but his chest is becoming heavy with the lyrics and then for one moment it shatters when he hears the, “ _Proud of ourselves, we will never break into many_.”

 

Never break into many.

 

Always as one whole.

 

Hyunjin wonders why this meaningless lyric will stay with him. The song draws to an end, and the radio DJ happens to come back on. “And that was the songwriter Felix’s special autumn release, Placebo. Next up…” Hyunjin drowns out the rest of the monologue and resists the urge to pull out his phone and start searching for the song., For Felix, whoever he is.

 

He wonder why the name starts etching itself in his heart, like Seungmin’s has done.

 

They’re about to reach Seungmin’s old school when Seungmin resurfaces from texting his friend and turns to Hyunjin with a bright smile on his face. “Thanks for driving, by the way.”

 

“‘S not a problem,” Hyunjin mumbles, sneaking a glance at Seungmin as he drives into the parking lot and tries to find a space.

 

“I was talking with one of my old friends,” Seungmin says, even though he doesn’t need to explain to Hyunjin, “They asked me if I was gonna come. Will you - Will you stick with me, today?” He asks nervously, like he had been waiting to ask Hyunjin.

 

Hyunjin parks the car and lets out a little, breathless laugh. “Min, I don’t know anyone else here, of course I’ll stick with you.”

 

“Thank you,” Seungmin murmurs, voice soft and trusting, and for a moment Hyunjin is in another world where he met Seungmin in a different way and they’re living different lives but Seungmin always means the same to him in both worlds, in _all_ the worlds.

 

“Let’s go?” Hyunjin suggests quietly, still not quite in this world but not in another either, suspended between time and memories and past lives and what ifs and different roads.

 

“Yeah.”

 

The auditorium is only half full when they enter, some people already chatting and laughing, others mulling around and checking their phones, eyes continuously darting to the entrance to see if the people they were waiting for had arrived. At their entrance, several pairs of eyes turn on them; some turn away but then people start approaching Seungmin, smiles beginning to form.

 

“Seungmin!” One man says, approaching Seungmin, “It’s been ages, how are you?”

 

“Daehwi!” Seungmin says, delighted, “I’m good - how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages…”

 

The two of them dissolve into a conversation marked by pockets of laughter, and Seungmin pulls Hyunjin in, introducing Hyunjin to Daehwi, whom he was close with in high school. It’s good to see Seungmin happy like this, Hyunjin thinks. His job as a prosecutor doesn’t leave Seungmin much time to relax and it’s often stressful, and Hyunjin had taken it upon himself to make sure Seungmin was smiling or happy when they visited each other, and it makes him happy to see Seungmin happy like this.

 

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Daehwi says cheerfully, “I’m pretty sure some old seniors around as well, Seungmin-ah. See if you can catch them!”

 

Seungmin turns to Hyunjin, about to ask him if he wanted to get anything to eat or drink when he spots someone walking by, and his mouth opens before he can help it, a loud, “Woojin-hyung!” leaving his lips.

 

At that, the man walking by stops, looking around in confusion for a while before he spots Seungmin, face breaking out into a huge smile immediately.

 

“Seungmin!” The man - Woojin, Hyunjin assumes - says, and then the two of them are hugging tightly. “My favourite dongsaeng,” Woojin says, laughter caught on the edge of his voice, “How are you doing? How have you been? Still singing? I heard you’ve become a famous prosecutor, haven’t you? You had that huge case that you won two months ago, didn’t you?”

 

Seungmin giggles shyly, a hint of his bashful, younger self shining through. “I’m good, hyung. I don’t sing anymore, but I remember how to… You’re famous too, aren’t you, hyung? Vocal trainer but you’re still teaching here?”

 

“I love it here,” Woojin sighs a little fondly, “And they had an advertisement for a part-time music teacher doubling as a cover teacher, so it was perfect.” He looks at Hyunjin then, a polite look of curiosity on his face.

 

“Oh, Hyunjin!” Seungmin says, recollecting the friend he had brought, “This is Woojin-hyung. He was one of my seniors when we were in high school and we were both in the music club. He’s a pretty famous vocal trainer, you know?”

 

“My pleasure to meet you,” Hyunjin says, shaking Woojin’s offered hand, “I’m Hwang Hyunjin, Seungmin’s friend. I’m an interior designer.”

 

“Hwang Hyunjin?” Woojin asks again, interest piqued and attention momentarily diverted from Seungmin. “You don’t happen to know a Yang Jeongin, do you…?”

 

Hyunjin squints at him. “Yes. Yes I do. He was one of my clients and I designed his apartment for him. We’re friends now, actually. How do you know that?”

 

Woojin just smiles. “Jeongin is one of the elementary teachers here, and he mentioned he just moved here and mentioned your name because you did his apartment for him, and said the both of you are friends too. He’s here this weekend, actually, and - oh, wait - Jeongin, over here!”

 

“Yes?” A voice sounds from behind them, then a younger man draws into their sight, carrying a large box full of papers. As soon as he spots Hyunjin, however, he breaks into a surprised smile.

 

“Hyunjin-hyung! Hi, what are you doing here?” Jeongin asks, eyes sliding from Hyunjin, to Woojin, then finally to Seungmin. His arms tremble from the weight of the box and on instinct, all three of them reach forward to take the box from Jeongin. Woojin takes it, in the end, and deposits on a nearby table.

 

“I’m here with Seungmin,” Hyunjin says, patting Seungmin’s shoulder, “He’s back for a high school reunion... but only met one friend?”

 

Seungmin pretends to scowl and slaps Hyunjin’s hand off his shoulder. “Rude,” He tells Hyunjin. “It’s nice to meet you, Jeongin-ssi. If you know him, can you take him away? I’m tired of him barging into my house at night and asking if I will cook something for him.”

 

“It’s not my fault you live so close to me,” Hyunjin interrupts, “And you always cook anyway, what’s wrong with sharing?”

 

“I cook for _one_ -”

 

“And you don’t finish the food most of the time -”

 

“Hwang Hyunjin!” Seungmin says, exasperated and raising a fist.

 

“Kim Seungmin!” Hyunjin returns, balling his hands up in defence.

 

“Kids, calm _down_ ,” Woojin says sternly, despite not having seen Seungmin in ages and had never met Hyunjin before. “Hyunjin, stop breaking into Seungmin’s house. Seungmin, change your door lock and hide the spare key somewhere else.”

 

They all break into laughter at Woojin’s nagging, and the word _kids_ doesn’t even seem weird to them. It’s natural, Seungmin thinks, how the four of them meld into conversation just like that, the banter going back and forth.

 

“Do you become friends with all your clients?” Seungmin asks, laughing as Jeongin recounts meeting Hyunjin for the first time half a year ago.

 

“What does that mean?” Hyunjin complains.

 

Once again, Woojin intervenes before they can escalate into a pseudo-argument again. Their afternoon passes like that, out of breath and cheeks hurting and the sunlight finally starting to stream in through the windows. It hits Seungmin all of a sudden, when he sees the others bathed in sunlight and their laughter the prettiest melody he’s ever heard, that he doesn’t want to lose this.

 

Doesn’t want to lose them, this, whatever it is, even if he’s only had it for a short time. Doesn’t want to lose this because he needs them in this lifetime, in this time too. Doesn’t want to lose them because he belongs somewhere, and he fits into loud laughter and cheeky remarks and biting jokes.

 

They exchange numbers, and someone - who, Seungmin can’t quite remember, the day having blurred into that single moment of sunshine he will always, always remember - creates a group chat between them. Hyunjin is kicked out by Jeongin within seconds.

 

“Jeong _in_ ,” Hyunjin whines, mock-offended.

 

Seungmin makes another chat with everyone, one where Jeongin isn’t an admin.

 

“See you,” Woojin bids.

 

“Bye,” Jeongin calls.

 

“Yeah, okay, see you,” Hyunjin sings, leaning over to pinch Jeongin’s cheek.

 

“See you, Woojin-hyung, Jeongin,” Seungmin says, dragging Hyunjin away before Jeongin can lay his hands on him and start murdering him.

 

The setting sun beats down on their skin as they make their way through the mess of the parking lot, the silence comfortable and serene after the non-stop chatter they had all afternoon. It’s easy, the way they naturally slide into their seats and Hyunjin starts the car to go back to Seungmin’s place, but Seungmin can tell there’s something on Hyunjin’s mind as he backs out of the parking lot.

 

It takes five minutes and a red light. “You know, I felt the same way meeting Woojin-hyung and Jeongin when I met you,” Hyunjin admits quietly into the silence of the car. “Like I knew them before.”

 

“I know,” Seungmin murmurs, trying not to break the tranquility. He leans his forehead on the window and stares ahead, the scenery blurring into the darkening sky, “It’s okay. Whatever this is - we’ll find out, eventually.”

 

* * *

 

 

VII. we’re heading to our next destination

 

The thing about having friends that were famous was that it was difficult to meet up, and even more so when none of them were in the same industry whatsoever. So when Changbin had asked if he could meet Chan and Jisung one day for another coffee, as a thank you for their role and help in the movie, it had taken them four months to carve out a time for them to meet.

 

First, Chan couldn’t make it, citing vocal classes with a trainer. The second time round, Jisung had apologised, saying he had been hired to produce a song for a debuting trainee. The third time, Changbin himself had to call it off, having to jet off to another country to attend an international author’s festival of sorts.

 

So, it takes four months for them to stamp down a firm date in their calendars before they can meet up in a coffee shop famous for idol hangouts because paparazzi and cameras are banned inside. Even then, Jisung runs a little late in arriving, having to rush over from a morning meeting, and Chan gets caught up in the middle of a sudden sasaeng attack, needing to take a diverted route before arriving.

 

Changbin waits idly, toying with his phone and fidgeting with a spare napkin as his americano sits in front of him, on the verge of going cold. It’s not entirely unusual for one of them to be caught up with the press and get delayed, but it does get tiring, and sometimes Changbin wishes they weren’t that famous.

 

Sometimes.

 

Still, as Jisung whirls in two minutes later, out of breath but bright and perky, and Chan, ten minutes later, all covered up and pulling at his clothes to reveal his curls and face, Changbin thinks he wouldn’t exchange this for the world. Soon, Jisung’s sitting opposite him with a steamy latte fogging up his glasses and Chan is cupping his hot chocolate, getting whipped cream on his upper lip. It’s endearing to see the usually charismatic actor like this, sweet and relaxed out of the camera’s focus.

 

“Hi,” Changbin drops, breaking the comfortable silence they had.

 

“Hey to you, hyung,” Jisung greets.

 

“How are you?” Chan asks teasingly, when just days ago he had made Changbin run out to get ice cream. Chan had been called in last minute to a cast meeting, so Changbin never got to see him, but it’s worth the wait to see him now.

 

“Betrayed,” Changbin says coolly, “What do I get in return for buying ice cream for you?”

 

“For Seoyoon and Hajoon, you mean,” Chan corrects smugly. “You bought ice cream for _kids_ , Changbin.”

 

“Because _you_ asked me to,” Changbin points out, now sipping at his lukewarm americano.

 

“And would you really ask something back from kids?”

 

“... Damn you, hyung.”

 

“Yeah, hyung, how can you ask for something in return when it’s for kids?” Jisung adds, and they’re just ganging up on Changbin now. They’re having too much fun doing so, Changbin thinks, but accepts their jabs and aims a mock-punch at Jisung over the table.

 

“So, hyung, what did you call us together for?” Jisung asks.

 

Changbin throws a napkin at him. “It’s been four months since I asked to meet up, Jisung. I was gonna treat you guys to coffee for being such a big help in the movie adaptation but not anymore.”

 

Jisung balls the napkin up and throws it right back at Changbin. “Where is my free coffee?” He squawks indignantly, “I’m claiming my free coffee! If I had known I would have cancelled everything four months ago!”

 

“All for free coffee?” Changbin asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

Jisung fixes him with a steely gaze. “You don’t joke about free coffee, hyung.”

 

“Just treat Jisungie then,” Chan says, trying to enjoy the last of his hot chocolate as Changbin and Jisung battle it out, “I don’t drink coffee anyway.”

 

“You’re not human,” Jisung accuses. “How do you even survive? What do you drink then? Straight vodka?”

 

Changbin tunes out the rest of the conversation as he approaches the counter to order another latte in the largest size available, and a slice of cake for Chan, who is an avid coffee hater and also an avid cake lover. How Chan even exists is a mystery for Changbin, and maybe Changbin will write a whole book about it when he’s trying to avoid his real responsibilities. He plays with his phone once again as he waits for the orders, and when he takes the tray back to their table, Chan and Jisung are engaged in an intense discussion.

 

“- he was trained in vocals by Kim Woojin-ssi,” Jisung is saying, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie absently, “And he’s gonna debut soon. I’m looking forward to it, actually. I think he has a lot potential.”

 

“And who are we talking about?” Changbin asks, sliding in next to Chan and distributing the food. His americano is long cold by now but he drinks it anyway.

 

“Lee Minho, an idol trainee,” Jisung explains, “Have you heard of him?”

 

“No, not really.”

 

“Not like I’d expect you to know - hey, that’s _my_ coffee now, no take backs - but yeah, he’s debuting soon. His company hired me and Felix to work on his debut album.”

 

Chan has heard almost nothing apart from _Kim Woojin_. “Wait, this - trainee trained with Woojin? They know each other? You know Woojin?”

 

Jisung scrunches his nose and steals a forkful of cake from Chan. “Yeah, well, I know Woojin-ssi through Minho. I don’t exactly _know_ him but I’ve seen him coming in and out of the studio like two times and he’s always said hi, so like… acquaintances?”

 

“Ah,” Chan says, then, “Woojin was the one who trained my vocals for my part in the musical film.”

 

“We should meet up,” Changbin throws out there, “Since we all kinda know each other. Also, did you say Felix? As in Lee Felix, the songwriter?” As far as he knows, Lee Felix had nearly been invited to take part in the production of the soundtrack for the movie as well, but he had been extremely busy at the time collaborating with another idol, and so Changbin never got to meet him.

 

Jisung nods emphatically. “Yep, him. He’s really nice and a really good songwriter, actually - have you heard Placebo?”

 

“Placebo is by him?” Chan asks, a little surprised he didn’t recognise it was his song, “It’s so good, I’ve been listening to it for days now… Along with 19, of course,” He adds, sending Jisung a cheesy smile.

 

Jisung just flushes, fidgets a bit. “Thanks, hyung,” He says shyly, still humble after all this while, “And yeah, why don’t we try to meet up? Hyung, you can call Woojin-ssi, I can call Minho and Felix, and Changbin…”

 

“Have I told you about my new neighbour?” Changbin says over Jisung’s joking trail, implying that Changbin doesn’t know anyone, “His name is Yang Jeongin, and he’s really, really cute. Like a younger brother. You should meet him, Chan-hyung, I’m sure you’ll find him cute.”

 

Now it’s Chan’s turn to stare at Changbin. “You’re… joking? I met Jeongin-ssi, like, a few days ago. When I went to pick up Seoyoon and Hajoon from school. He’s their elementary school teacher.”

 

“What a small, small world,” Jisung muses as Changbin starts filling Chan in on Jeongin, who only really comes out of his shell once he’s gotten past being shy. “Listen, we really _should_ meet up. I feel like everyone has either heard or know each now. We might as well be mutual friends.”

 

And like that, Chan remembers how easy it is between the three of them, how natural it feels to have Changbin and Jisung by his side, laughing and teasing each other, eyes half-crescents with the force of their smiles. For a moment, if Chan lets himself, he can close his eyes. Can close his eyes and soak in the warmth and the laughter and coffee smell and drown himself in memories that he has not made but they must be his, because everything is familiar and foreign to him all at the same time.

 

If Chan lets himself sink further, he can hear the faint laughter of more people, the press of other bodies closer together like there isn’t enough space, and for another second his heart hurts _so bad_ with the absence of people he doesn’t know, hurts like his heart has been scraped raw from people he has never met, from people that have been torn from his side despite never having heard of them before.

 

“Hyung?”

 

It’s okay, Chan thinks, smiling and just letting Jisung eat the rest of the cake. He has Changbin and Jisung, and it’ll always be the three of them.

 

Even if it’s just the three of them left, and the pain of phantom people’s absence throbs in his chest, he’ll be okay.

 

* * *

 

 

VIII. you’re the dejavu that wakes me up

 

“You’re going to a different studio today,” Minho’s manager calls, as Minho steps out from his room that morning. “We’re going to be testing filming a practice video in a different studio, so you can practice there for today. We’ll tell you when we’re going to start filming, yeah?”

 

Minho just nods. He’d prefer to stay in a studio he’s already familiar with, but a new scene might do him some good, after all.

 

“How’re you feeling?” His manager asks gently, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Minho.

 

“Excited. Nervous. I hope everything goes well,” Minho replies shortly, but he’s being honest while trying to keep his nerves at bay at the same time. He’s due to film his music video in a week, with all the jacket photoshoots having been taking place over the past two weeks and just wrapped up a few days prior. All the songs on his debut album were recorded, and his choreographies were finished as well.

 

Most of all, the debut date had been confirmed to the public.

 

He had made sure to read more positive comments as the pressure mounted and expectations started reaching way over his head. Still, the excitement of showing what he had prepared grows with each passing day, and he just has to take each day as it happened.

 

“That’s normal,” His manager says, “Remember we’re here to help you, okay? Keep yourself healthy and don’t overwork yourself.”

 

Minho has always been grateful for joining a company that prioritised the artists’ well-being. “Okay, hyung. Don’t worry.”

 

Like that, Minho starts his day. He changes into practice clothes and is bustled into the car. The car takes a different turn right from the beginning, winding along a street of Seoul Minho can’t quite make out, the signposts blurring past his eyes. Eventually, he settles on listening to the radio and checking any unread messages from last night.

 

Felix had congratulated him on the announcement of his debut date and Jisung had spammed a bunch of emojis with a cryptic message of, _do you know Woojin-ssi_?

 

 _Yes_ , Minho replies, _Woojin-hyung was my vocal trainer before I changed to another noona. Why_?

 

Jisung returns the message just before Minho turns off his phone to start practising when they’ve arrived at the studio. _My friend knows Woojin-ssi. He says we should meet up_. Minho toys with the idea for a while. Responding with a quick affirmation, he shuts his phone and surveys the front of the building.

 

It’s all glass and chrome, looking more like a modern-art museum than a dancing studio, and as MInho is ushered inside by his manager, there’s even a reception. His manager handles signing in him, and he soon gets a card that says ‘Studio 9’ on it.

 

“Studio 9 is on the third floor,” The receptionist says. “The elevator is just round the corner. We hope you have an enjoyable experience here today.”

 

Minho has never been in such a modern dance studio. Once the elevator opens, he notices that each studio has a panel of windows stretching the length  of the studio so people from outside can look inside. Each studio also has a card reader, and Minho glances down at the card in his hand in realisation. On this floor, there are four studios, one already occupied.

 

It’s Studio 11, and right opposite Studio 9. As Minho peeks through the windows into the studio, he sees only a lone figure in there. The person is clad in a white hoodie and a mask, messing with their phone presumably to set up his music. Minho’s about to turn away, start minding his own business and begin his own practising when the person in Studio 11 starts moving.

 

In barely a few seconds, Minho’s eyes are drawn to the figure. He can’t hear the music, but he recognises the choreography, knows it’s a popular song from a famous idol group, and he can’t help observing the smooth transitions and the powerful moves. Whoever it is - they dance well, Minho thinks.

 

“Minho?”

 

“Oh - yes, sorry,” Minho mumbles, moving to his own studio and swiping his card on the reader.

 

As some staff members mess around with setting up cameras and lighting, Minho finds himself stretching and rehearsing some of the choreography in his mind, but his eyes keep going back to Studio 11, now observing the figure through two sets of windows. It’s weird how Minho seems to recognise how the person will move, how they will hit the next move and where they could have slipped up. It’s weird how Minho feels like he should go in and start dancing with them as well, like it’s second nature. It’s weird how Minho feels an irrational pull towards this unknown person, gravitates towards each and every one of their movements.

 

The air becomes thick and heavy - _why_ \- around him as he spins in his own choreography, trying to catch a glimpse of the person in Studio 11 while focusing on his own dance. It takes a while, but eventually Minho becomes focused on doing his own thing, nailing the jumps and spins and too busy with keeping timing to spare any thought for Studio 11.

 

It’s when he’s taking a water break that he realises the figure from Studio 11 has stopped, and is standing near the window, watching Minho. He drops his water bottle.

 

The remaining water spills everywhere and threatens to soak into his shoes but that’s _not important_ because there is a face to the figure from Studio 11, and it is pouty lips and smiling eyes and messy hair and Minho _must_ know this face, but nothing comes up in his memory despite somehow feeling like he should recognise who it is. From Studio 11, the person leaves his studio and in a few strides, is knocking at his door with some hesitancy, Minho can tell, from how soft the knocks are.

 

Before his manager can say anything, Minho picks up his water bottle and moves to open the door.

 

 _I know your name_ , Minho wants to say, but it’s not true, because he doesn’t know who this is, doesn’t know what their name is, doesn’t know anything about them. For some reason, his heart aches with this realisation, like he should have held tight to memories he cannot recall, to memories he does not have. _I know your name, but I don’t know why I can't remember it_.

 

“Um,” The person says.

 

“Hi,” Minho blurts out.

 

A beat passes, then another, and another, until the person sticks their hand out, looking embarrassed. “Hi. I’m - I’m Hwang Hyunjin. I’m sorry for looking at you like that, or just coming here, I just -” Hyunjin takes a breath. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” Minho says hastily, “I - I kinda looked at you as well, we’re both - both in this together. I’m Lee Minho.”

 

“No way - wait - like, the Lee Minho that’s going to debut? Lee Minho, the dancing jewel, the famous trainee? The tabloids are full of your name at this point.”

 

Minho laughs bashfully, fiddling with the hem of his long shirt now. “Yeah - Yeah. That’s me.”

 

Hyunjin peers at him curiously. “What are you doing here though? I thought your company building was somewhere else? If you came here before I think I would have seen you before.”

 

“This is my first time coming here, actually. The staff want to shoot something here in the future so they came to check the studio and my manager said I could stay here to practice for the day.”

 

“Oh - then I shouldn’t disturb your practice, I’m sorry. It’s really nice to meet you though,” Hyunjin hesitates, then says in a softer tone, “Just watching you reminded me of someone, I think. Like I know you or something. I’ll leave it to you now, Minho-ssi.”

 

Watching Hyunjin walking away, Minho doesn’t like the drop of his stomach, or the dread that settles the empty space in his chest, like he’s walking Hyunjin walk away for the second time in his life. “No, wait,” He calls, “Let’s grab lunch together, is that okay? Are you free?”

 

Minho barely scraped through his manager’s nagging on meeting strangers and going out for lunch with them, but lets Minho go anyway.

 

“You need more friends,” His manager says.

 

Minho scowls and leaves the practice room for the cafeteria on the first floor.

 

Hwang Hyunjin laughs easily and gets shy even more easily and is an easy friend to make, Minho gets to know that afternoon. He learns that Hyunjin prefers dogs over cats, hates persimmons, is an interior designer and dances in his free time because dancing had always been there his whole life. He learns that Hyunjin usually uses Studio 9, but it had been booked in advanced which was he picked Studio 11. He learns that Hyunjin had once auditioned for an entertainment company years ago but left when his parents opposed his decision to do so.

 

“Maybe you and I could have been in a group or something,” Hyunjin jokes, but there’s some longing behind his words that Minho picks out easily.

 

“Yeah,” Minho agrees quietly, and the chance of a once upon a something weighs down too heavily on their shoulders, suffocating the air around them.

 

“Still,” Hyunjin continues, now a little more upbeat, “I don’t regret becoming an interior designer. I met a lot of friends through my job.” He starts listing names - some Minho doesn’t know at all, Younghoon, Chanyoung, Yongseung, and some that make Minho startled, make him sit up and listen more closely. “And I got to know Seungmin and Jeongin, and when I followed Seungmin to his high school reunion I met Woojin-hyung as well.”

 

“Woojin-hyung?” Minho asks, “Is he - a vocal trainer?”

 

“Yeah, he teaches at the school Jeongin is at too.”

 

Minho sucks in a breath he didn’t know he let out. “I know Woojin-hyung. I used to take vocal lessons with him.”

 

Hyunjin laughs a little, runs a hand through his hair. “What a coincidence - maybe we should meet up. I’m sure he’d love to see you. I can introduce you to Seungmin and Jeongin as well.”

 

Minho hums. “Yeah, we could. I can ask my friends to come as well… Do you know Felix and Han? The songwriter and producer?”

 

Hyunjin looks at him in amazement. “I forgot you were famous, MInho-ssi.”

 

“I’m not! Just - how old are you… Ah, is that so? Call me hyung, then. There’s no need to be so formal.”

 

It’s a promise of something more, as they part after lunch, Hyunjin back home and Minho upstairs to continue practising. A promise of meeting up and getting to know friends and reconnecting with mutual friends because time passes too fast and they’re always caught up with their own lives. It’s a promise they made in a past life, in a different dimension, but always in the same place.

 

“See you, hyung!”

 

“See you.”

 

Tomorrow will be the fulfillment of their promises.

 

* * *

 

 

IX. you’re the courage to make me live again

 

When Felix had been approached with the offer to write one of the title songs for a musical film, he had jumped at the chance, mainly as he had never been offered to do so, and it was an excellent chance to expand his portfolio.

 

“We were looking for a song that’s quite nostalgic, something like longing for the past but scared for the future at the same time, so you were one of our first choices,” The director had said.

 

Felix had been floored, and accepted it almost immediately.

 

During the first cast meeting, Felix had lurked in the background just to observe the mood of the cast and how they interacted, trying to see if he could pick out who might be singing the title he’s writing. Among them, he had recognised famous faces in the idol industry, and most of all, he had recognised Chan’s face in the midst of the crowd.

 

Chan had been the lead actor in a movie based off Broken Compass, a fantasy novel that had taken over the world a year ago, with the movie for it coming out a few months later. Felix had nearly been called in to write the soundtrack for the movie, but he had been involved in another huge project, a collaboration with an idol, and Han was better suited to produce that song, at any rate.

 

Now, though, he had the chance to meet Chan again.

 

After the first cast meeting, Felix had approached Minho to find Kim Woojin, a rather famous vocal trainer in order to record the guide version of the song, mainly because he had a voice in mind for the song, and Kim Woojin happened to be a voice that he imagined. Through Minho, he had liaised with Woojin to arrange a few dates to go over and record the song, all the while writing the song with other producers the director had hired.

 

It feels like Felix hasn’t seen the light of day in ages, with how he squints into the sky as he waits for Woojin to pull up in front of his company building. It had taken maybe a few weeks, but a guide version was ready to be recorded to show to the cast, and Felix had gotten the confirmation of who would be singing in the final version. Chan, Younghyun, Sana and Jimin would be participating for this song, and Felix would have to adjust the pitch after the guide had been recorded. Needless to say, he was hinging on this day to go well, and the recording to be done so he could move on and start finalising it before the director started breathing down his neck.

 

“Felix-ssi,” Woojin greets, coming round the corner after having found a parking space, “How are you?”

 

“Woojin-ssi,” Felix says, standing up straight now, “I’m great, how are you?”

 

“Excited to record, honestly,” Woojin says, following Felix into the building and up the elevator to the recording studios, “I’m honoured you even thought of me to record the guide version.”

 

“Your voice is amazing, and you fit the mood we’re going for,” Felix says, starting to list things he admires about Woojin. About halfway through, he realises he’s rambling and Woojin’s just looking at him with a fond like in his eyes. “Oh - sorry, I got carried away, Woojin-ssi,” Felix says, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, “I just - just really like your voice.”

 

“I’m really honoured, Felix-ssi. Your songs are always so good, I’ve had Placebo playing on loop for days now.”

 

Felix makes a sound that sounds like he’s dying as he leads Woojin into the recording studio.

 

“It’s true!” Woojin argues, taking the papers from Felix, “It’s a really, really good song, and you’re great at what you do. It’s an honour to record the guide for you.”

 

For the next two hours, Felix points out the highs and lows of the song, goes over parts Woojin isn’t sure and stresses certain lyrics that he wants Woojin to portray more strongly, listens to Woojin’s raw practice. He makes a few last minute changes to the song, just to make the flow of the lyrics better, then Woojin’s saying he’s ready and then they’re preparing to record.

 

Sitting outside the booth, Felix listens to Woojin warm up, his first low notes and the high, soaring notes that hit later in the song. His heart is thudding in his chest as the song he had been slaving over for what seemed like an endless time is about to come together, about to come to fruition and he can finally hear what it sounds like all together.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Ready.”

 

The first few piano notes sound through Woojin’s headphones, then the rest of the instrumentals start coming in slowly, and he’s counting the beats, making sure he’s not about to miss his starting cue and then -

 

_They’re recording for another album, what album, Felix doesn’t know, just knows that Woojin is one of them, but doesn’t know who else is ‘them’. It feels so familiar, like they’ve done this again and again and he’s watching Woojin singing with all his heart into the microphone like he has since day one, and when he’s done he smiles at them through the window, bright and happy and they’re together and they’re home and he is so, so happy._

 

“That was amazing, Woojin-ssi,” Felix calls, once he’s reigned in his emotions, “If you could stress these words more clearly, and for the ending, can you go a little higher?”

 

It feels light and easy, how Woojin sings, and how he changes after Felix offers him advice. He can’t help but not want this recording session to end, to have Woojin come in day after day just to record together and watch him sing, because it gives him a sense of comfort and familiarity he’s never really quite felt before. The only other time he had ever felt like this was when Minho had recorded his debut album with him and Jisung, and Felix had tried not to cry after his job was done.

 

By the time night falls, Woojin’s finished his recording and all Felix has to do is piece it together and the guide version will be completed.

 

“Thank you so much,” Felix says, wringing Woojin’s hand when he’s about to leave the studio. “Seriously, Woojin-ssi, I can’t thank you enough. Today was amazing, I thought we’d have to record a few times, but you did so well!”

 

“You were the one that guided me through everything and made it easy for me,” Woojin says, pulling Felix in for a hug instead, “You did so well, today, Felix-ah. Good luck on the rest of your song and recording with the artists, yeah?”

 

Felix just smiles.

 

Before Woojin’s left, they’ve exchanged numbers, and the contact in his phone is ‘Woojin-hyungie’.

 

Just like that, just so _easily_ like that, Woojin comes into Felix’s life. As Felix polishes up the guide version and makes some last minute changes to pitch and lyrics for the artists to record, Woojin texts him pretty frequently, asking how his day has been and reminding him to rest and take care of himself. It’s like having an older brother, Felix thinks, and it warms his heart to no end to receive messages, like he’s being parented around.

 

The date of the actual recording draws close, and on the day itself, Felix finds himself just blasting Woojin’s guide version out loud in the studio, staring idly at the computer screen, mind blank. This project had taken a lot out of him, and he’s so ready to fall asleep for three weeks after he’s done with everything. For now though, he slaps his cheeks and psyches himself up for a few long days.

 

Each artist had been allocated a certain date, so it’s four separate recording sessions that Felix has to deal with, and it’s okay, he thinks, because they’re all cooperative and willing to please. He gets through Sana first, then Younghyun, and Jimin, and their parts are all done one by one. Only one person is left - Chan, and frankly, Felix had secretly been the most excited to record his parts, though he isn’t quite sure why.

 

On the last day of the recordings, Felix is downing a coffee and looking like death itself as Chan walks in, all bright curls and brighter eyes.

 

“Hello, Felix-ssi,” Chan says.

 

It takes a while for Felix to recognise someone’s there. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I dozed off for a bit - hello, Chan-ssi.”

 

Chan just laughs. “It’s okay, you must be exhausted with all the recordings lately. Let’s get through this day as fast as we can!”

 

Chan is like a bubble of pure energy, ready to record and open to any suggestions. The first part of the recording goes well, Chan’s voice melding in perfectly with the other recordings. It’s the harmonisation and high notes that prove a little trickier, but once Chan gets the hang of hitting the right pitch, everything smooths over.

 

As Felix listens to Chan’s part over and over again to catch any parts that he might need to record again, he can’t help but notice the technique Chan used to hit his high notes was very similar to Woojin’s. He wonders for a moment if Woojin had trained Chan, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask Chan about it until Chan is finished recording for good.

 

“You did really well today, Chan-ssi,” Felix says, playing the recordings again for Chan to hear, “That high note really is something, if I may so so. Actually, I was wondering if you trained under Kim Woojin? The way you hit your notes is similar to the guide version he recorded.”

 

Chan sets down his water bottle, eyebrows high with surprise. “Yes - yes, I was. I trained under Woojin a few months before I auditioned for this role, actually. He’s the one that recorded the guide version, then? No wonder I felt the voice was so familiar.” He lets out a small chuckle, continuing, “I just thought it was me confusing his voice with someone else. It’s kind of a small world, isn’t it?”

 

“Of all the vocal trainers I asked to record the guide, it had to be the one you worked with,” Felix agrees, joking around. “Maybe it’s fate.”

 

“Maybe,” Chan replies, tone a little mysterious and guarded.

 

That day, Felix gets Chan’s number too. As he looks at the contact in his phone, he tries not to dwell too much on the feeling he had when Chan was recording.

 

Almost the exact same feeling as when Woojin was recording, like they were _supposed_ to be recording together, _supposed_ to be doing this together. It makes Felix’s chest feel tight and his mind swim with possibilities he could have never considered. It leaves a bittersweet taste on his tongue when Chan leaves and he knows he won’t ever do this again. It feels like the last time he will do this, when they’re never meant to have a last time.

 

“See you,” Chan had said before he left, and Felix believed him.

 

Because he knew he could.

 

Because it wouldn’t be the last time he sees Chan.

 

He trusts Chan, just like that.

 

* * *

 

 

(+ I)

X. wherever you are, sing this song

 

Chan doesn’t even know how it happens. One day, he’s living his normal life, getting ready for the film and recording songs, meeting new people in the process, and then the next day Woojin is texting him, asking him if he knows Felix.

 

It’s weird how relationships form, Chan thinks. First, he realises Woojin knows Felix as well, and Felix knows Jisung as they worked together to produce an album for a debuting trainee, Lee Minho. Like that, he had gotten to know Minho by association, and Minho had known Woojin. Then Minho had introduced them to Hyunjin, who knew Woojin as well, then Hyunjin himself brought Seungmin and Jeongin in. Jeongin, Chan had known, and Changbin was mentioned by then as well, both by Chan himself as well as Jisung and Jeongin. In the end, there were nine of them that seemed to know each other, one way or another.

 

 _Why does everyone seem to know each other_? Chan had fired into the group chat someone had made, a spur of the moment thing because they had gotten tired of texting people in separate chats. Everyone had gotten confused at first, recognising some and not knowing others. It had taken Chan telling everyone to basically shut up before asking who knew who and the tangled web between them was laid bare for everyone to see.

 

Even though Chan hardly knew some of them - like Minho, Hyunjin, or Seungmin - he can’t help but feel that it’s _right_ to have a noisy chat like this, for his phone to vibrate non-stop when he switches it on after work. Feels right to scroll down through the endless messages, full of memes and random conversations and complaints someone has about their day. Feels right to just fire a message into the already messy chat and derail the conversation entirely. Feels right to have eight other noisy people to come back to at the end of the day.

 

It doesn’t feel like they’re strangers at all, by the end of the first week the group chat is birthed.

 

It feels a lot like Chan has known all of them for ages, with how easily he talks to everyone. Not everyone gets along, as Jisung and Hyunjin hit it off on a slightly wrong note before Woojin tells them to shut up and apologise and say what’s wrong.

 

 _You guys are adults, not children_ , Woojin had sent in the chat, and Chan could feel his irritance even though it was admittedly kind of funny to see them like this.

 

Barely two days later, the rest of them were making fun of the past tension between Jisung and Hyunjin, mocking how they used to text each other, all in good fun. For others, like Minho and Seungmin, it had taken a little more time for them to warm up to everyone in the group, but once they did, they were the ones that were online the most often, always responding with memes or advice depending on what was sent.

 

It’s nice, Chan thinks. Really nice.

 

Most of them forget that they haven’t even met together face to face, and it’s a month later that Jeongin points this out.

 

[18:06] do you know all of us haven’t met?

 

[18:06] like in real life

 

[18:07] we should meet up, hyungs

 

[18:07] I can’t keep telling my other friends the only friend group I have consist of people I haven’t met yet

 

[18:07] minho-hyung respond

 

[18:07] I can see you read them

 

[18:07] don’t pretend that you’re offline now!!!

 

Chan mulls over the possibility of the nine of them meeting up as Jeongin chases after Minho, tagging him repeatedly. Half an hour later, Seungmin responds, a simple _let’s meet up then_. There’s a brief pause, then everyone’s online at the same time, miraculously, a wave of enthusiastic agreements starting to flood the chat.

 

Mentions of where to meet - the park, a coffee shop, someone’s house - starts to be thrown around, and some sort of half-baked plans of what to do forms, but then Seungmin asks something.

 

[21:24] when do we meet?

 

It takes a while for the message to sink in with multiple people texting, but then the messages stop streaming in as they realise what Seungmin’s sent. In that moment, the reality that their schedules clash, that their lives don't quite match and align up perfectly, that their commitments are endless and demanding, start to kick in, and their plans seem childish, a little too hopeful now.

 

It’s a while before anyone says anything.

 

 _Let’s pick a day and everyone has to clear their schedules_ , Woojin suggests, and it’s logical, it’s the best course of action they have if they really want everyone to meet up. Chan leaves the chat to call his manager, wanting to confirm if he really does have a free day off like his calendar says, and it takes more than some time to make sure and convince his manager that he wants a free day off.

 

[22:01] I’m kinda free on the 4th of next month

 

[22:01] kinda because I just argued with my manager for 15 minutes

 

[22:01] the next time I’m free will be after the musical

 

[22:02] what about you guys?

 

Chan sends the messages and waits for the responses with bated breath. Slowly, the rest start coming back, saying that they’re free too, or that they’ll clear their schedules for that day. Chan had the busiest schedule out of all of them, and they tried to accommodate that to the best of their abilities. _It’s lucky I’m debuting the week after that_ , Minho jokes in the chat, _Hyung, I’m coming for your title as Busiest Schedule_!

 

Just like that, they have a date confirmed and plans tentatively made.

 

The closer the 4th comes, the more nervous everyone gets, always on tenterhooks if someone will drop out, or if something urgent will come up. Jisung clears out and moves a meeting he has; Minho pleads with his manager to give him a day off; Felix reschedules a recording session with another artist; Seungmin takes leave for the day and endures his boss inquiries; Woojin and Jeongin both take leave too, though they are interrogated much less than what Seungmin goes through.

 

Hyunjin just laughs at everyone in the chat.

 

[19:08] this is why you work from home guys

 

He asks for trouble, honestly.

 

[19: 21] I can’t believe you kicked me out of the chat, Chan-hyung :(((

 

“You deserve it,” Chan says out loud as he responds, and then another spamming session starts. The messages wake Seungmin up, who renames their chat to ‘The No One Shuts Up Dumpster’ and proceeds to tell everyone he’s muted the chat.

 

They continue to talk as the days pass by; sometimes the chat is dead and other times it’s far too active, but time just rolls by and then all of a sudden, the day to meet up is _today_ , the 4th is _today_ and Chan starts his day by arguing with his manager at five in the morning.

 

“It’s the perfect opportunity for me to do some research and get experience,” Chan wheedles, “I take the bus and see life from that perspective for the film! And I can go hangout with my friends after that, it’s a win-win situation.” He sees his manager visibly hesitate and he waits it out a little longer, sure that he’s about to give in.

 

It takes a lot of pauses but he does.

 

Eventually, Chan gets his way. It’s too early in the morning, and with his usual many layers of clothing, it’s difficult for anyone to tell that it’s him that’s riding the bus.

 

Riding the bus at five thirty in the morning feels strange, Chan comes to the conclusion. The sun has hardly risen yet, and he has two hours to his destination, and it only adds to the sensation. He leans his head on the cold glass lightly, not wanting the vibrations of the bus to hurt his head, and watches the scenery blur pass him.

 

It feels like he’s done the same thing before.

 

If he lets himself go, he can feel the echo of a loneliness from a past life, of a longing for family and fitting in and finding happiness. If he closes his eyes and sinks into his mind, he can feel the sadness that hums strongly in his chest behind a veil of another life, an overwhelming sense of nostalgia clawing up into his throat and threatening to spill from his eyes. If he bothers to concentrate and remember, he would have memories of him of another time when he didn’t find the number that would complete him like he already has in this life.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

He grounds himself, glances down at his phone and scans over the messages that are already flooding their chat even at this time of the day. He has found himself, he thinks. He has found himself in eight other people, some of whom he has never actually met. The once empty space of his chest that had been clawed at by the cold fingers of loneliness has been filled by eight people, and now only warmth and affection encompass him wholly.

 

He knows he’s found where he belongs in this lifetime, like he has done before.

 

Even the bus ride seems short when he has them to talk to, the endless distractions of them talking serving to fill his time. Then, everything happens in a blur. He’s getting off the bus and walking towards a coffee shop beside a park, and there already a few figures mulling outside the closed door, voices floating over to him.

 

Hyunjin smiles as brightly as Chan imagined he would, and Minho’s voice is as sweet as Chan knows it is.

 

One by one, they all show up, and Chan’s heart gets fuller and fuller with the arrival of one more of them, until it’s about to burst. They are exactly as loud in real life as they are when texting, a mixture of shouting and laughing and sassy retaliations that leave stitches in his sides, and Chan would never change them for the world.

 

In the same space, with the same hearts, but in a different world with different lives, they have still found each other like this. The tangle of their relationships have smoothed out into a circle interlinking the nine of them like fine gold silk, threading them together in ways that is too much of a coincidence to be an accident. They are nine, they always have been nine, and nothing can come between them. Not time, not another world, not different intentions.

 

They remind him he has to stop and rest too, that he cannot keep running. They remind him that he has somewhere to come home to, that he is not alone, that he always has someone to turn to. They give him the home that he has always craved for. They ease the jagged edges of his pain and loneliness into smooth rounds made by affection and friendship, fill the hollow inside his chest with their laughter and words and voices.

 

They become his place to go.

 

So now, home is not only the smell of detergent and _tteokbokki_ . Home is the sound of laughter and noise, the smell of coffee and shampoo, the almost unbearable yet welcomed warmth of being squashed together on a long bench in a coffee shop. Home is nine, home is _them_ , and together, he will always have a home to come to.

 

He doesn’t know how he managed to find them, but he will never let them go. Not in this lifetime, nor the past one, nor the ones to come.

 

They will always find each other.

 

(“Look, stray cats!” Minho exclaims delightedly, bending down to peer at a stray cat behind a bush. They had just finished their breakfast in the coffee shop, just barely having avoided being kicked out several times. Everything seems to be light and airy, like a dream, but with the way the sun beats down on his skin and the wind rushing through his hair, Chan _knows_ it’s real.

 

“Stray kids?” Jisung asks, ears thick.

 

“Cats!” Minho says, punching Jisung’s arm softly.

 

“What did you say?” Chan asks Jisung, something buzzing in his ears, blood rushing hot.

 

“Stray… kids?”) 

**Author's Note:**

> all the titles are like a reference or like a lyric from certain songs so if u guess all the songs correctly u get a smooch from me or a hug if u like or a handshake if ur not into skinship its all good my dudes
> 
> and i hope you guys enjoyed this!!! since it i s april i will be updating paint me again, two more fic, maybe get lost bc ive let them hanging for ages and i dont know i have to study for my finals *insert pained smile* so thank u for reading and i'll see you guys next time!!!


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